Tuesday, 21 January 2014

Moon

Tonight the moon has donned a copper blindfold

"I am up to no good" she says

"Planting a half voice in a cocked ear and bindweed in a pretty garden where there ought be none"

"I have winked my dark eye and tipped out all the city lights one by one."

"You are living in a mad place" she says, over the shoulder

And turns like a glass bauble backlit from 45 degrees

She is a gold backed beetle on a slow march across the sky

Not a globe but a bright coin dropped, spinning and spinning, deceiving the eye

A much thumbed compass filled with tiny cogs and dials that make the seas jibe

"I am up to no good" she says
As if she were alive

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